


depravity and murder

by Northerlywind



Category: Daredevil (TV), Elementary (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, It's a small world after all, Light-Hearted, Matt gets kicked in the shin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3753538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northerlywind/pseuds/Northerlywind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New York's a big place, but doesn't mean people don't bump into each other every now and then.</p><p>A Daredevil/Elementary crossover where Claire finds and fixes up Sherlock. Matt is involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	depravity and murder

Claire is hurrying down the street, clutching her handbag tight to her body. It’s late, and she wants to get home, preferably without too much fuss. Just once, she just would like to make it home without any unexpected guests.

“Oh, hell,” she mutters, stopping short. Speak of the devil (not _that_ one. or _that_ one.). 

Up ahead is a fallen, shapeless lump. It’s not in a familiar costume, but instead a long black coat. A moan rises from its depths and, as said lump rolls over, Claire can spot a tell-tale sheen of blood from the dusky light of the streetlamp. 

She should _really_ stop frequenting alleys. With a long, drawn-out sigh dripping with _not-this-again_ , she inches forward. 

* * *

“You called a _blind_ guy over to identify someone for you?” the amused voice says next to her. They’re both staring at the prone form slumped on Claire’s couch. (Well, staring’s not the right word for what Matt’s doing. Claire is staring. Matt is doing his super-sense-y thing in the stranger’s general direction.) 

Claire shrugged. “I figured you’d be the best person to ask about him. Seeing as you’re involved in the underbelly of the city and everything. Sue me.” She throws Matt a stern look to stop him from making the joke she _knows_ he’s dying to say. His mouth snaps shut.

They stand there a while longer. Matt may be inspecting the newcomer, or he may just be falling asleep on his feet. It's hard to tell behind the sunglasses. As for the strange guy, he isn’t doing much moving on the couch; his coat is draped over him, but his scarf hangs on a nearby chair. Claire’s pretty certain he isn’t going to die on her, a) because she’s a kick-ass nurse and also b) there’s New York’s finest human heartrate detector in her apartment. But more a) than b). 

“Well, I don’t know him. Maybe. I don’t know. He’s not from Hell’s Kitchen, anyway.” Matt adjusts his grip on his cane. He’s all suited up in lawyer gear. Claire wonders if this is the only time he’s been in her apartment _without_ having been roughed up by bad guys first. She gives up trying to think of an exception after flicking through the last half-dozen times. 

The guy on the couch looks all right, if a bit shady. She wonders how quickly she can get away with throwing him out once he wakes up. Sure he has some bruises and cuts, and some older wounds, and he _was_ nearly unconscious by the time Claire dragged him in her apartment, but he looks all right. Okay, he has _one_ gunshot wound, but that’s nothing. She can’t remember why she called in for reinforcements (i.e. Matt) anymore. The guy is basically just having a nap. He’ll survive. 

Then, she thinks, maybe she’s gotten desensitised to this stuff since Matt fell into her life. Oh _no_ , of course it wasn’t her _job_ that did it, it was _Matt_. She owes him a kick in the shin. Probably several. To be honest, now’s probably the best time to do it, seeing as he’s unusually injury-free at the moment. She delivers a sharp jab to his shin with a socked foot. 

His leg darts away. “Ow!” he says, more for effect than anything. She knows damned well he can take a bigger beating without complaint. He probably even saw the thing coming, elevated heartrate and all. “What was that for? What did I do?” His forehead scrunches up, which is actually annoying cute. It kind of makes her want to kick him again, but she resists.

“For making _this_ seem _normal_ ,” she says over Matt’s grumbling. Another sigh escapes her lips and she shakes her head. “For making me not even consider dialing 911.” 

She considers poking the guy to wake him up. There’s not much they can do until he becomes conscious, and who knows how long that will take. Maybe she and Matt can play a game. She tries to remember if she has a pack of cards but then remembers Matt wouldn’t be able see them anyway. Damn. Maybe she can dig up a chess set...

She shoots another look at his lawyer ensemble. “Do you have somewhere to be? You don’t need to stay, you know.”

He looks guilty. Must be the Catholic streak coming out. “Foggy’s handling it,” he says. “It’s fine.” He swallows nervously. 

“Matt...” she says, a warning tone creeping into her voice. What has he done _now_? “You know I don’t believe you when you say that anymore. What are you missing out on?”

He looks guiltier. “A... court date,” he admits. He tugs at his tie. He should stop doing that, or he’s going to get another kick in the shin for looking too adorable.

“Matt!” she exclaims. “You’re missing out on _court?”_

“Foggy’s handling it,” he insists. Then, he tilts his head slightly. “I think he’s waking up,” he says.

“Don’t change the subject,” she orders. “You’re skipping out on _court_?”

“No, seriously,” he says. “Um, you should probably see if he’s okay.” Matt takes his hand off the cane and waves it vaguely in the stranger’s direction. 

Claire simply glares. She doesn’t know if Matt can tell (who’s she kidding, _he can tell_ ) but either way, it’s cathartic. 

He sighs and relents. “I just... you’re always... there for me.” He turns his face towards her, his eyebrows knitting together. _Damn him._ “I just wanted to be there for you.” _Damn him to hell._ Why did he have to go and say something sweet like _that_? He deserves another kick on the shin, honestly. She should keep a mental tally and save it up for a time in which he’s being a jerk; however, that time is not now. “Okay, I think he’s actually waking up though-”, he says quickly, his head dipping towards the couch. 

She tries to keep on her determined expression (although she probably gives it away to Mr. Supersense Murdock, esq.) and says, “ _Go._ ” She gives his shoulder a light push. “Shoo. _I’ll_ be fine. No buts.” 

Matt opens his mouth, probably to protest, but he doesn’t manage more than a syllable before they both jump at the loud groan from the definitely-awake-now mysterious stranger.

The man’s eyes snap open and dart towards them. Immediately, he bolts up like a firecracker with a flurry of limbs. Frankly, Claire’s surprised he hasn’t fainted from the sudden motion. “Where’s Joan?” he says accusingly, and winces a second later. Pain tolerance seems lower than Matt’s, she notes. She can’t believe she’s _ranking_ them now. 

“Who’s Joan?” asks Claire. Matt seems a bit tense beside her. She wonders if he knows something she doesn’t, or if he’s just regretting not having brought his costume.

The man stands up, wobbling a bit. In response, Matt stiffens, the grip on his cane tightening.

“You really shouldn’t-” starts Claire, then gives up. She knows better than to argue. In her peripheral vision she realises that Matt seems to have shifted imperceptibly into a fight-ready stance. _Down_ , boy, she thinks. Don’t. Not here.

“Joan Watson,” says the stranger.

“Oh.” Matt tilts his head and frowns in concentration. 

“My partner,” the man continues, squinting at them a bit hazily. “We’re detectives. NYPD. _Et cetera_.” The guy has an English accent. Not incredibly unusual, but still noteworthy. 

“ _Oh_ ,” says Matt again.

Claire’s head whips around to glare at him. “ _What?_ ” Is she the only one confused about the situation? She needs to sit down. She needs to rest, damn it. Okay, the guy got shot and Matt is a lawyer after all, but she’s pretty sure no one _else_ has been stitching up other people basically all day. 

“I think...” he starts, and frowns. “I think... I might have... Maybe bumped into her. In a manner of speaking.”

“You know her?” the man demands, turning to Matt and raising an interested eyebrow. 

Matt licks his lips, shuffling to lean on his other foot. “I’ve met her. Once.” He’s being evasive in the way that signals in red-hot neon letters that this is a Daredevil Thing. Claire sighs and turns her eyes towards the ceiling. She is _so_ going to get him for this later. It might involve some more shin-kicking. “Long story.”

“Do you know where she is?” In spite of the fact that he was pretty much unconscious a few minutes ago, the man is now bouncing on his toes. Jesus. “Is that my scarf?” he asks, and grabs it before Claire can answer, wrapping it around his neck with a dexterity not befitting a recently stitched-up man.

“No,” says Matt to the first question. “We’re thinking of the same person, right?” He still seems visibly uncomfortable at the stranger’s energetic motions. 

Sherlock squints some more at them, taking a particular interest in examining Matt. “Fascinating,” he says to himself. Then, louder, “You’re- you’re blind. But clearly you can sense my movements. But not just that. It’s more. You seem to be anticipating my- my _next_ movements, sometimes. It’s not just- it’s more than simple,” he flaps his hand, “Echolocation. Hm. Very... intriguing. I’d love to learn. But I’m afraid I don’t have the time to examine this in more detail, I really must be-” He raises both eyebrows towards the door. 

“Mind telling us who you are?” Claire interjects before Matt can start ranting or defending himself. Both of them seem to have forgotten it’s _her_ apartment, and _her_ gauze that’s kept them both from bleeding out enough to be having this conversation. Did she mention it’s _her_ apartment? 

“I, uh, Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective,” he says, shooting out a hand. He winces in pain, dropping his elbow to cover his side. 

She sighs. She should have expected that people beat-up in alleyways were all the same cut from the same cloth. “Yeah, you should probably... not do that. You need to rest.”

“No time!” the man announces, recovering with a snap of his shoulders. He grabs his coat, turns and starts to march towards the door.

“No, no, no,” says Claire, rushing forward and planting herself in the exit. “No leaving until you tell me what the hell is going on. You don’t get to be fixed up without getting a grilling first.”

“Don’t I know it,” mutters Matt, grinning to himself behind the stranger. 

“Shut up,” she says. If only he were in kicking range. 

“Yes, well,” says the man, Sherlock, with a hmph. “I thank you for this,” he gestures with his free hand to the bandages on his torso, “But I really _must_ go. If you’ll excuse me-” He shrugs on his coat and ducks right, trying to dart around her.

She backs into the door, taking hold of the handle before he can grab it. “Questions, first,” she commands, glaring at him. 

He sighs. “Fine, fine,” he says petulantly. He freezes. “What’s that sound?”

Claire looks around. “What?”

“I didn’t hear anything,” adds Matt, who seems to be enjoying this too much.

“ _Ah, ah, ah!_ ” shouts Claire, side-stepping Sherlock’s sudden dodge towards the exit.

Sherlock deflates. “Worth a shot,” he shrugs. “Fine. _Three_ questions. But then, I really do have to be getting on with a murder. The solving of one, that is.”

"A murder?" repeats Claire. Just when she's got a handle on the masked vigilante thing, she gets a murder detective. Homicide. Whatever.  _Great._

"Is that your first question?" Sherlock asks. Matt has walked over to join their conversation. 

“No,” Claire replies flatly. If either of them try any more of his smart-aleck business she’s going to quit. It’s an unpaid, self-driven volunteering position but she _will_ quit. She’ll do it.

“Question one: Why were you shot?”

Sherlock sighs. He actually has the nerve to look _bored_. “Terrible question. But I’ll answer it. I was shot because my investigations were uncovering a plot that threatened to reveal a ring of druglords. Fairly mundane reason, but, well.” He shrugs. “You can’t have everything. Next.”

She warily lets go of the door handle. 

Matt straightens. “Are these the druglords involved in the weapons smuggling syndicate that was responsible for the murder of the shop assistant last month?”

Claire turns to stare at Matt, who seems to be very focused on Sherlock now. 

“ _Better_ question. However, interesting answer: Yes.” Sherlock bounces, clearly itching to leave. “One more. Quickly.”

Claire needs to have _words_ with Matt when they’re alone.

“Where can I find them?” says Matt, who’s closed the distance between him and Sherlock. 

Wait. _No._ “Noooooo. No. No,” says Claire, shaking her head. “Don’t answer that,” she says sharply to Sherlock.

“I can take you to them,” Sherlock replies to Matt, a spark in his eye. 

“No, we’re not doing this. Not in my apartment,” Claire warns. “Matt. Don’t.”

“I don’t-” Matt shakes his head. “I can’t. Not now. I just need to know where.”

“No, just _no_. No,” interrupts Claire, stepping up to Matt. “You are not- You can’t-” She steals a look at Sherlock, who’s clearly collecting information about them. “No.”

“Just tell me where.”

Claire groans in frustration. “You,” she says, pointing a finger at Sherlock, “Are _not_ leading _him_ ,” she stabs at Matt’s chest with her other hand (he’ll be fine, he hasn’t been shot. recently, anyway), “To the people that shot _you_ yesterday. And _you_ are not going to go find them.”

“ _Claire_ ,” starts Matt, sighing. 

“ _Matt_ ,” she returns. Not this again, she thinks. She’s not backing down. 

Sherlock looks between them. “44nd and 15th. Is where I’ve been _told_ they were last. But if you want _up-to-the-minute_ information about their whereabouts, you can find me _via_ the NYPD. Ask for Gregson. Or Bell.”

“Oh, god,” says Claire, running her hands over her face. 

Sherlock takes the chance to bolt for the door. “That’s three questions. Now I _must_ be off. Murders to solve and all that. I’ll be seeing you. Perhaps.” He disappears, throwing on his coat and dashing too quickly for his injured status, well before Claire can stop him. 

The door swings shut. Claire stares at it open-mouthed. Then she sighs and turns, slumping against it wearily. She needs a holiday. Or, she needs to retire. Or, something. She hits the back of her head on the door a couple times. She glances up at Matt. He’s frowning. 

“ _Joan?_ ” she asks. 

He tilts his head, clearing his expression. “Another time,” he says, shrugging it off. 

Claire sighs again. That's it, she gives up. 

Matt puts on a smile. “I think you mentioned a court date I need to be getting to?” He fumbles for his tie, adjusting it to fit to his neck. 

“Tie’s crooked,” she points out, smiling back slightly. She pushes herself off the door and adjusts it. Matt’s quiet while she does so. 

“Thanks,” he says, after she pulls away.

Claire looks back at the space where Sherlock had been. She doesn’t- she just won’t go there. Out of sight, out of mind. She wonders if that’s how Matt deals with things. 

He walks forward and she steps away to let him reach the door. “See you, Claire,” he says, turning to face her briefly, before reaching for the handle. 

“Yup,” she says in reply. The things she gets into. “Say hi to Foggy for me.”

Matt nods. “Will do.” The door shuts behind him.

“Take care,” she says to the empty room. After a moment, she busies herself with picking up the litter in her room. 

Maybe she can play Solitaire later, if she could only find those damn cards. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Elementary quote, "Consider every wretched hive of depravity and murder in this city my place of business."


End file.
